


Mycroft's Guilt

by IAmMelonlord



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmMelonlord/pseuds/IAmMelonlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one may have seen it, but Mycroft had his own way of grieving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mycroft's Guilt

"Here you go sir, and your bill"

 

“Thank you..” The tea is delicious, and he knows for a fact it compliments that cake quite nicely, hence why he ordered it. However now that he sees the crumbs and smells the icing he can’t quite gather himself to pick up the fork. “How’s the diet going?” Sherlock’s comments often stuck with him. He had always heard this when looking at sweets and other fattening foods ever since Sherlock began saying it. Somehow now its gained power, perhaps it’s the guilt. “How’s the diet going?” His stomach drops and all motivation to indulge himself or even move is gone until the shame hits and he can’t stand to stay any longer.

He arrives at the Diogenes Club and approaches the entryway slowly, still weighed down with melancholy. It was a slightly cloudy day with nice temperatures so the door was cracked . This put a halt to Holmes’ plans as he recalled observing a dark haired but bright eyed Sherlock with what he hoped was fruit punch in an eye dropper. His arms hadn’t grown much so he had to go tip-toed on the wooden stool to reach the empty dropper that had rolled down the counter to the wall. It’s been years since he’d done his brotherly duty of spying through a cracked door, why should he reminisce now? His grip tightened on the wooden handle of his umbrella. 

The guilt. 

He didn’t want to walk in that door and see anyone with white hair, so he turned on his heel and set himself to visit his brother.

 

That is how he found himself in front of that slab of rock he can’t help but despise. Attempting to even his breathing, he shifted some of his weight to his umbrella and consequently pushing the metal point further into the mud. The downpour was relentless and he was almost soaked through, his only protection being his suit which seems to have gotten too large for him, the sleeve sinking over his hand and keeping the handle of the umbrella dry. 

He supposes it was the guilt.

**Author's Note:**

> This is another old fic I had lying around, kind of forgot where I left it until just now, but I hope you enjoyed it. If I ever get around to it I'd love to have art of Mycroft in the rain at the end so I might try drawing it, If I do I'll add it. Thanks for reading!


End file.
